


my heads underwater, but i'm feeling fine

by thegoddessinzerogravity



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Autistic Character, F/F, Noise Sensitivity, im autistic and a lot of things amy does are very me so this was born, meltdowns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 02:53:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8604334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoddessinzerogravity/pseuds/thegoddessinzerogravity
Summary: Amy is overwhelmed, and support comes from the most unexpected places, sometimes.





	

Amy was usually good at blocking out the noise and (relative) controlled chaos of the precinct, but something was different today. Maybe she hadn't gotten enough sleep. Maybe the stress from her last case- a pretty grisly murder that had taken weeks to solve- wasn't quite as gone as she'd assured everyone. Maybe it was a nasty combination of a too-tight ponytail tugging the individual strands of hair and the broken AC in the heat of a burning New York City summer.

She picked her pantsuits (despite Gina's constant criticism of her grandmother-like fashion sense) for this exact reason. They were comfortable and loose, didn't restrict her and cause the intense discomfort of pinchy skin around the joints. 

Whatever it was, work was particularly nasty today. Jake was (as usual) arguing obnoxiously loudly with Captain Holt and Terry over some stupid protocol breach. Charles was grumbling and smacking the side of the microwave. Gina was sliding back and forth in her seat. Scully and Hitchcock- _No._ She sharply reminded herself. Focusing on those two would only make it worse.

Jake's voice scraped over her ears, the sharp _clack_ of the microwave, the squeak-squeak of Gina's chair, the suddenly burning agony of her tight ponytail yanking on her scalp-

Too much. 

She put her pencil down (even the tiny click of it hitting the desk made her flinch) and buried her head in her hands. _Keep it together, Amy. You've handled worse._ Of their own violation, her hands rose up to tug at her hair, searching for the tiny strands that were yanking at her head in search of some tiny relief from the pain invading every part of her being. 

The microwave let out a loud crunching noise as Charles apparently succeeded in whatever he'd been doing, and the fragile strand keeping Amy in control snapped. Her hands flew free of her hair and she leaned backwards fast enough to knock her chair a few inches backwards, a burning sensation growing in her stomach and tears forming in her eyes. 

She squeezed both her eyes tightly shut to avoid full-out sobbing in front of the entire Nine-nine, shame and embarrassment flooding through her at even the thought of the entire squad looking at her like she was some kind of freak, breaking down in front of everyone for _no goddamn reason_. 

Her nails dug into her knees, the tiny pricks of pain barely registering in comparison to the hellish storm in her brain- 

A hand suddenly seized her elbow and pulled her hands off of her thighs. She was about to jerk up and tell whoever it was to leave her alone, but the wiry frame at the end of the hand was pulling her out of her seat too fast for her brain to properly formulate a retort. She couldn't see who it was, her vision still blurred with stress and tears and overload, but the person is now (much more gently) putting an arm around her waist and leading her out of the room. 

The air distinctly changes, going to something cooler and more damp, a powerful reprieve from the stuffiness and heat of the precinct. There's a sound of a door swinging open- no screechy handles, Amy noted, where _were_ they? 

As soon as the door swished close again, Amy sat down hard on the cold floor. The relief was so overwhelming that for a while she couldn't do anything but soak in the peace, the cool air and silence before she realized her savior hadn't joined her in the room. 

Another minute passed before she could comprehend her surroundings. The old records room. A stroke of genius on her rescuers behalf, really. Except if a member of the squad decided they needed to be in here for whatever reason- 

Speaking of that. Jake's voice interrupted her thoughts, and she desperately mentally scrambled for some viable excuse as to why she was sitting alone in the records room with tears streaking her face in the middle of the afternoon. 

"Hey, Rosa. Budge over, I need to see something." 

_Rosa?_

"Too bad, Peralta. It's off-limits right now." 

"How can the records room be off-limits? I need to fact-check something for this case." 

"Since when do you care about that? Weren't you working with Scully on this case? Go ask him if you need information." 

"But _Rosaaaaa_. . ." 

Jake grumbled for a little while longer, but eventually vanished and headed back up the precinct. Amy waited, frozen on the floor, no idea what was going to happen next. The door started to open again, and she hurriedly swiped an arm across her eyes just as, yes, Rosa Diaz walked through the door. 

The other woman crouched down on the floor next to her, her eyes questioning. "You feeling better? I know it sucks today." 

She was too surprised to respond for a second, but when Rosa's face changed into impatience she was able to get a reply out. "Y-yeah. Sorry, it was just, everyone was too loud, it was too hot, and I just," 

Rosa held up a hand to quiet her. "I know, Amy." 

Her eyes were suddenly difficult to meet, and she distracted herself by fumbling for the hairband in her ponytail. The tugging on her scalp was almost immediately relieved, and her long brown hair fell around her shoulders. 

"I'm like you too, Santiago. I know how it feels." 

She wanted to say it- it was clear what Rosa is talking about- but she couldn't get the word by past her mouth. Years of bullying had turned that word into something dirty, something to be hidden and sheltered against her chest, not to spoken about with other people. 

Rosa lightly patted her on the shoulder. "Come back up whenever you're ready, Amy. I've told the rest of the squad that I'll stab anyone who tries to come in here right now, so you've got as much time as you need." 

Amy laughed, the sound pushing itself past the overstimulated pain still in her chest. Rosa got to her feet again with a grunt, and Amy followed her. "I think I'm okay to go back out now, actually. I just needed a little break. Does it look like I've been crying?" 

Rosa leaned in close, and her breath caught in her chest. Her nose was inches from Amy's, and her dark eyes were endless and starry. Rosa reached up a finger, and carefully drew it across the delicate skin under her eye. "You look great. Don't worry." 

Despite this, she stayed close to Amy's face for a few more seconds, and for some reason, direct eye contact wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as usual when it was Rosa. 

She pulled away, and Amy stayed in place for a few seconds while Rosa started to walk up the stairs. The thought of going back up the main room suddenly seemed much more appealing. 

**Author's Note:**

> Amy shows a lot of autistic traits and this fic was born. Partially sadly inspired by the fact that I rarely have people to help me through my sensory-induced meltdowns, so I'm projecting onto my favorite character, I guess.
> 
> As always, feedback appreciated. 
> 
> Edit: My tumblr url is @wednesdayoceans. Come say hi!


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